


Hocus Pocus, Alakazam

by rivers_bend



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kinks, Love, M/M, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-08
Updated: 2011-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>laughter, sex, and playing dirty</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hocus Pocus, Alakazam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [autoschediastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/gifts).



> The Obvious: I do not know any of the people whose public personas are used here, and neither believe nor mean to imply this actually happened.

After Adam started singing seriously--training and working at it--he could hold his breath longer underwater than any of the other kids at the pool. Ever since the first time he swam the whole length without coming up for air, he could take a deep breath and feel like it would last forever. He remembers this, but he cannot imagine it right now. Cannot imagine what it feels like to be able to breathe _at all_.

"Stop," he says, or at least that is the shape his mouth makes; there is no sound. Tommy is watching him, though, and obeys. But only for the barest second, hardly long enough for Adam to gasp once, and then his fingers are back, higher on Adam's ribs, right under his arms.

Adam shrieks, wasting what little air he got. Tommy's grin turns into a cackle, and he settles his ass more firmly on Adam's thrashing thighs, just far enough down that Adam can't get any pressure at all on his dick.

"So evil," Adam tries to say, and he tries to clamp his arms at his side, trapping Tommy's fingers enough to stop him, but apparently all that guitar playing is worth more than the pathetic few minutes of his gym time Adam spends lifting weights.

"You gonna give it up?" Tommy asks, stopping (not just pausing, please not just pausing) to lean over Adam's chest, hands planted flat on the bed under Adam's vulnerable armpits, hard dick just nudging Adam's balls.

And Adam is. He so is. The tickling is too much. But his hands reach for Tommy's shoulders, and his hips twist, and apparently it looks like he's aiming to get Tommy on his back despite his best intentions, because the fingers are back, right in his armpits this time, wiggling, poking, _tickling_ , and oh god, he can't _breathe_.

Tommy laughs, a delighted burst of sound, says, "I love how you think you're gonna win."

"I don't," Adam squeals. "I wasn't." He honestly can't even remember why he thought it was anything less than a stellar plan for Tommy to ride him in the first place. Tommy riding him is fucking hot. "You win!"

"Mmmm," Tommy answers, fingers slowing, stroking lightly down Adam's ribs. It could be a caress, but Adam's nerves are so worked up that he's still wriggling side to side, trying to get away from the touch, pushing into it as he does. "I don't know," Tommy continues, a slow, maddening drawl. "Maybe I don't want you to fuck me after all." He goes up on his knees and comes back down so his cock is riding the groove of Adam's left hipbone. "Maybe I want to get off just like this."

Adam should have known. Should have seen it coming a mile away, but it's still a shock, still makes him jump and writhe and squeak--no other word for it, no point being proud--when Tommy digs his fingers in again, tickling for all he's worth.

"No!" Adam shouts, laughing, tears squeezing out of his eyes, arms thrashing helplessly at his sides. "Please! Fuck!" He's laughing, and Tommy's laughing, and Adam's dick is so fucking hard, pressed against Tommy's stomach, and god, _god_ , he wants to be inside Tommy's ass like _yesterday_ , but if Tommy won't? Maybe he can--

While Tommy distracts him with fingers moving down his ribs, somewhere between tickling and stroking, just enough pressure to keep Adam twitching and on edge, Tommy leans down and bites Adam's right nipple, hard. Adam's whole body jerks like Tommy has lightning in his teeth.

"Ow! You fucker," he says, and this time he gets his hands up to grab Tommy's wrists.

"Hurts good though, right?" Tommy says, unrepentant, grinding on Adam's dick pointedly, ignoring the grip on his wrists, thumbing over the sting on Adam's chest.

"Hurts." Not wanting to give Tommy the satisfaction, he doesn't say anything about bad or good. Adam will glare, but he will not lie.

Leaning down again, making Adam flinch a little, Tommy licks gently at the tooth marks, kisses them, pressing his lips below Adam's nipple then above it, before opening his mouth to suck it to a peak against his tongue. Giving up his grip on Tommy's hands now that he seems to have stopped tickling him, Adam wraps his arms around Tommy's back, pulling him closer, rocking him in counter time to Adam's thrusts. And this--Tommy heavy on top of him, delicious friction--Adam's lightheaded with it, even with his lungs full of air.

"Still want to fuck me, baby?" Tommy says, lifting his mouth from Adam's nipple to ask. "Still wanna get all up in me, watch me work myself on that big dick of yours?"

The _fuck, yes_ in Adam's brain turns to mush on its way to his mouth, but it was a rhetorical question anyway, Adam knows.

"Yeah, you do," Tommy says. "You're all ready for me now."

"Just, fucking--" Adam says, but he's not moving, isn't risking Tommy starting up with the tickling again, or worse, sitting on Adam's knees and jerking off onto Adam's dick just to prove a point. He lets Tommy get the lube, lets him slick Adam's dick, hold it steady while he rides it teasingly in the crack of his ass, bumps the head up against the soft skin of his sac. Adam doesn't even tell him to stop teasing. Ribs still aching from Tommy's tickle attack, Adam holds his tongue.

He can't keep his head from rocking back, his breath going ragged, his hands clenching in the sheets next to Tommy's knees, but his hips only twitch a little, and he doesn't try to thrust, or grab, or push his way in when Tommy rubs Adam's dick over his hole. He should get a fucking _medal_. Big and gold. Hang it around his neck on a chain, let the bloggers speculate about that instead of whatever shit they were gonna come up with this week.

"Stay with me, baby. We're almost there," Tommy murmurs, rubbing his free hand on Adam's chest, spreading his knees a little wider.

"I'm fucking _with_ you," Adam says. "Oh my god, Tommy, oh my _god_." Because come on, it's not being a toppy bitch to ask for it when it's this fucking close.

"Yeah, you are." And finally, fucking _finally_ , Tommy lines up, pushes, wiggling just a little, just enough to pop the head of Adam's dick past that initial resistance, and then he's riding Adam's shaft right down until he's sitting on his thighs. " _Yeah_ , you are," he says again, voice breaking a little on the yeah.

Needing to touch, Adam grips Tommy's calves, and when he doesn't protest, moves up his thighs. "Can I?" he asks, slow stroking, up to Tommy's hips, not gripping, not guiding, just holding.

"Yeah," Tommy says, lifting an inch, two, dropping down, hips rolling under Adam's palms. "Hold on, baby. Hold on."

Adam holds on.

And holds on, and plants his feet so he can fuck up while Tommy's fucking down, and jesus, Adam loves it so much when Tommy's flat on his back just fucking taking it as hard and fast as Adam can give it, but when he's like this he fucking _glows_. Working himself up like Adam doesn't even have to move a muscle, like Tommy doesn't need anything but Adam's dick, Adam's heartbeat under his palms.

"You fucking suck at lying back and letting me do the work, Lambert," Tommy says, but he's grinning, looking pleased, so Adam lets his fingers curl tighter around Tommy's waist, shift him forward a little, change the angle as Adam works himself deeper. So fucking deep. So fucking _good_.

So fucking shouldn't have done that.

Tommy barely has to move his hands to get his fingers back to that most ticklish spot at the edge of Adam's pecs, and he digs right in, no mercy.

Adam leaps, and thrashes, and shouts, and somehow fails in every way to buck Tommy off or dislodge his fingers. "Sorry! Uncle! Sorry!" he cries, but it's no good.

"Not stopping til you come," Tommy says, and Adam can't. He _can't_. It's too distracting, it's too much, and Tommy isn't _fair_. "Don't you fucking tell me you can't. Don't fucking _even_."

Adam wants to protest that he didn't say anything. Wants to protest the tickling. But Tommy's thighs are gripping so tight to Adam's hips his ass is like a vise, and Adam knows Tommy's not gonna stop tickling, so it's up to him to get himself under control, stop leaping like a rodeo bull and let Tommy fucking get them there.

It takes everything he has. Every muscle, every tendon, every fucking cell in his body to hold himself still against the onslaught of Tommy's fingers. He squeezes his eyes shut, twists his own fingers in the sheets, curls his toes and locks his knees. Behind clenched teeth, he's whimpering like a puppy locked in a cage, but if he concentrates, he can pull in scraps of air through his nose, keep his lungs from exploding.

"Ung, yesss," Tommy groans, deep in his chest, exaggerated porn-star noises designed to break Adam's concentration, but he's rolling his hips, leaking wet onto Adam's stomach, so the sounds aren't all a lie. His fingers track down Adam's sides, ticklepinchtease at his waist, onto his belly, back up to his ribs, and the noises coming from Adam's throat hitch like sobs, wind the heat in his groin tighter and tighter, amp up the throbbing need in his dick.

He's almost there, so close, but he's still not sure he can make it. Is holding on so tight he can't let go. Then Tommy's fingers are at his nipples, not tickling anymore, but pinching, twisting, shooting pleasurepain right down Adam's chest to his dick. Adam contorts his whole body, gasping, and it feels like coming, but it isn't, and Tommy does it again, thumbs rubbing Adam's nipples against his knuckles, hips twisting, ass clenching as jizz shoots wet up Adam's chest.

That's Adam's moment, he knows; Tommy slack with his own orgasm can't protest if Adam thrusts. Just once or twice, just enough to tip him over the edge. But it doesn't even take that. "Fucking do it," Tommy says, lifting up somehow, almost off, and when he drops back down, it's just the friction Adam needs to do as he's told.

After, Adam can't move. Not even once Tommy rolls off him. Fortunately, Tommy is taking his topping role seriously, and wiggles around to get a handful of wipes from the drawer, mop up enough of the mess that they won't wake up with sheets glued to unfortunate places. "Mmmpf," Adam manages when Tommy gets a little too enthusiastic cleaning Adam's dick, but his fingers don't even twitch.

"You'd think you did all the work," Tommy says, up on one elbow, his other arm reaching behind him to clean lube off his thighs.

"Pffff," Adam says. He could fuck Tommy ten times in a row and not feel this wrung out. "Ssst," he adds, waving two fingers in Tommy's general direction. Well. Lifting them an inch or so off the bed.

"You're weirdly hot when you can't move," Tommy says, tracing the line of Adam's jaw to his ear and down his neck.

"'M always hot," Adam manages.

Tommy laughs and bites his shoulder. "Weirdly hotter then." Tossing the wipes off the edge of the bed, he scoots gingerly over to press himself to Adam's side.

"If you're waiting for me to tell you you're hotter when you're being an evil sadist, you'll be waiting a long time," Adam says, but he can't help worrying that the way he's gripping Tommy's hair in one hand and pulling him closer with the other might make his words less convincing than they would be otherwise.

"That's what I'm doin'," Tommy says. "Waiting." He slides an arm across Adam's stomach, hooks a leg over Adam's thigh, grips Adam's hipbone with his other hand, presses against Adam's ankle with his toes.

"Waiting like an octopus."

"That doesn't even make any sense." Tommy pokes him a little with one of the fingers curled around his side.

"Denial's ugly, Tommy Joe." Adam tugs his hair. "And no more tickling."

"Thought you said denial's ugly." He doesn't make a move to do more than cling a little tighter, though. "That you trying to tell me you didn't like it?"

"Remember that part where I can't move?"

"You better be able to move a little. Light's on your side." Adam can feel Tommy's grin against his chest, and he hides his own smile in Tommy's hair.

"I see how it is," Adam says.

"Yeah, you do," Tommy agrees, giving Adam a little shove toward the lamp on the bedside table. "'S totally how it is, baby."

The lamp's just out of Adam's reach, and Adam's about to give up, sleep with the light on, but Tommy rolls a little harder against him, giving him that extra fraction of an inch he needs.

"That's how it is," Tommy says into the darkness.


End file.
